


Last Night in Highever

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: When Life Gives You a Blight ... [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed like just another night in Highever.  Regan's brother had left earlier in the evening with most of the family's troops to join King Cailan at Ostagar.  Her father and family friend Rendon Howe were to ride out in the morning.  Plans ... changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night in Highever

**Author's Note:**

> Several years ago, after playing Dragon Age: Origins for the first time, I decided I wanted to try and write out my OC’s story. This is not that story. Looking back on what I wrote all those years ago, it was stale and boring and … well, meh. So I’m starting to rewrite it, because I miss my Regan Cousland … and Alistair … and all the rest. I’m not really sure how much I’ll actually do, or how long it’ll take, but here we go.

It was the middle of the night when Jasper started barking.  Regan wasn’t sure of the time, just that it was late … early?  The moonlight coming in the window meant it most certainly was _not_ morning.  She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes only to find Dairren already up and trying to quiet the mabari.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a hushed tone.  Why he bothered trying to be quiet, she didn’t know.  If the mabari’s barking hadn’t already woken everyone up, his speaking certainly wouldn’t.  “I’ve been trying to quiet him, but he won’t have it.”

“Maybe something’s wrong?”  She climbed out of bed, wondering what could possibly be wrong enough to warrant this kind of response from her normally quiet hound.  She ran a hand along the dog’s spine, trying to calm him, but nothing worked.  She saw Dairren move to open the door, saying he wanted to check the hallway.  Immediately, her gut started going in knots, her insides screaming that it was a bad idea.  She had other ways out of her room.  “Wait, don’t open the …!”

Her warning came too late.  She saw her friend slump to the floor, an arrow protruding from his throat and a second in his heart.  “ _Dairren!_ ”  Jasper flung his weight against the door, trying to shut it but Dairren’s limp body was in the way.  The mabari’s efforts were just barely enough to allow Regan a chance to grab her blades.  She wished she had a chance to throw on her armor as well, but armed men forced the door open, meaning she had to fight in nothing more than her night clothes.

It was a lot harder to fend off her attackers than she’d expected.  The bladework was easy, but having to remember there was _nothing_ between her body and their blades was something she wasn’t used to.  She’d always been able to rely on her armor to protect her.  It didn’t help that these men were actually trying to _kill_ her; her other fights had typically been sparring matches.  And there was the death of her good friend to consider, as well as his corpse sprawling in her way.

When she and Jasper _finally_ managed to take out their attackers, she quickly kicked Dairren’s body out of the way so she could slam the door, apologizing to his corpse.  Jasper stayed at the door, bracing it as best he could while Regan frantically donned her leather traveling gear.  It wasn’t armor, exactly, but it would offer more protection than her sleepwear.  She should have been faster to warn Dairren; shouldn’t have let him open that door … shouldn’t have let him stay the night; should have done the training in the practice fields, not her room.  Now, he was dead because she’d made so many wrong decisions.  She had to make those men pay.

Once she was clothed, she cracked the door and peeked out.  The immediate hallway was clear, but she could hear voices just beyond the next door.  As quietly as possible, she and Jasper slunk to the door, pushing it open just enough to see two more men.  She took a breath and sent Jasper in, letting the ferocious mabari grab their attention.  Once they were distracted, she leapt in, driving her blades through the weak spots in the men’s armor.  When the second man fell, she heard her mother’s voice.

“Darling, are you hurt?”  Eleanor quickly scanned her daughter’s bloody form for wounds, thankful that she seemed to be unharmed.  “

“I’m fine, mother,” Regan growled, barely noticing that her mother was dressed in a similar manner – leather breeches, linen shirt, leather over-shirt currently left open.  She tried to wipe the blood from her face but only succeeded in smearing it around.  “Those monsters killed Dairren!”  She didn’t understand what was happening … _why_ it was happening.  Dairren had never done anything to hurt anyone.  Why was he dead?

“Not Landra’s son!”  Her mother either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the fact that the only way the girl could have known that was if he had been in the room with her, late at night.  It didn’t really matter anyway.  “A scream woke me up so I barred the door until I could dress.”  She gestured toward the bodies scattered about.  “Did you see their shields?  Those are Howe’s men!  Why would they attack us?”

“Maybe they’re bandits who stole the men’s armor?” Regan supplied, trying to come up with any other answer.  She really didn’t want to think about a family friend betraying them, even though she never really _liked_ this particular family friend.  Kneeling next to one of them, she plucked off the helmet and stared.  “Wait, I know him.  I … I’ve seen him in Amaranthine before.  He … he was one of the men sent to guard us when Nate, Fergus and I would go to the forest.”  She frowned, punched at the stone floor.  “They _are_ Howe’s men!  He’s betrayed father!  He betrayed all of us!”  She stood, gripping the hilts of her blades just a little tighter.  “He has his men attack when our troops are gone; coward.”

“You don’t think his men were delayed … on purpose ….”  The realization that this was _all_ planned hit them like a ton of bricks.  “I’ll cut that bastard’s lying tongue out myself,” Eleanor snarled, surprising her daughter.  Regan had never heard her mother swear before, even if it was a rather tame curse.  “Have you seen your father?  He never came to bed after his … meeting … with … … … Howe.  Where are Oriana and Oren?  Are they alright?”

The trio darted to Fergus’ room in a panic.  The door stood open and Regan could make out three forms sprawled on the floor – two larger than the third.  She pushed ahead of her mother, trying to hide the carnage, but it was too late.  Eleanor dropped to her knees next to the body of the small boy whose hand still gripped the wooden sword he’d received on his last birthday.  Oriana and one of the remaining Highever soldiers lay nearby, the young woman’s head nearly severed from her body.

“I’ll make him pay for this, mother,” Regan snarled just before more guards flooded in from the guest rooms.  Eleanor, armed with her family’s bow, took position in the doorway and let loose with a barrage of arrows, miraculously missing her daughter and mabari.  Regan and Jasper bowled through the men not felled by arrows, blades and teeth flying.  Regan made a mental note to thank Ser Gilmore for all his training, just before realizing she might _not_ see him.  No, she _had_ to stay positive.  She _would_ see him again, because he was just too damned good to be killed by these men.

“Howe’s men must be everywhere,” Eleanor sighed as they ran through the hallways to the treasury to grab the family sword.  Regan immediately chose to use that instead of the training blade she’d had in her room.  “We must use the servant’s entrance in the larder to escape.  They can’t know about that way in and out, and your father is probably already there.  It’s close to the room he was supposed to be in for his meeting.”

They couldn’t continue through the hallway thanks to burning debris, so they barged through the doors to the main hall only to see several Highever knights fighting Howe’s men.  As Regan watched her friend, Ser Andrew, fall as a result of a spell, she knew who her target had to be.  Using some of the tricks she’d learned from some of the … scoundrels in town, she managed to slip through the fighting to sneak up on the mage and slit her throat.  Near-covered in blood, she joined the battle, fighting through the armed men until she quite literally ran into a familiar face – she bumped into Ser Gilmore as he fended off an attack by a battle-axe wielding soldier.  All they had time for was a quick look of relief before leaping apart to finish off the attackers.

“Man the gates,” Ser Gilmore shouted after the final enemy fell.  “Don’t let another one of those bastards through!”  As battered as they were, the Highever soldiers scrambled to the doors and did their best to create a blockade.  The small cluster of archers that remained focused their arrows, ready to fire if anyone _did_ make it past the barrier.  “Your ladyship, my lady!”  He ran over to the noblewomen, his relief evident.  It took all he had not to sweep Regan into his arms right then and there.  He’d been so worried.

She didn’t care who was watching, for once; proper behavior could hang for all she cared.  Her damned house was under attack and one of the few people she _wanted_ to find was still alive.  Regan left her mother’s side and ran straight to her knight, almost tackling him.  “Rory!  Thank Andraste you’re alright.  You _are_ alright, aren’t you?”  She ignored the surprised look on his face as his arms wrapped around her carefully.  

She may disregard her mother’s feelings about the matter, but he found he could not … not entirely.  “Don’t worry about me,” he whispered before looking over at the elder Cousland.  He was not sure how to read the look on her face.  It wasn’t anger, exactly … but considering the circumstances, maybe it didn’t matter.  “I am relieved you both live.  I was certain Howe’s men had reached your rooms.”

“They _did_ ,” Regan snarled, eyes filling with tears.  “They killed Oren, and Oriana … and Dairren … and Landra … and … and ….”  She started rambling, listing names of all the dead they’d come across.  She clung to him, wanting to feel safe … just for a moment.

He held her, stroking a gloved hand along her spine.  Cautious, he kissed the top of her head, once again glancing at her mother.  Eleanor appeared to be … busy checking on the rest of his men.  “As soon as I realized what was happening, I had my men bar the doors of the castle … hoping to keep more of Howe’s men from getting in, but it won’t hold long.  If you have another way out, I pray you use it, quickly.”

“Come with us,” Regan commanded, finally pulling away from him.  She grabbed his arm, felt his entire body stiffen.  “Rory, come _on_!  We need you with us.   _I_ need you.”  She was practically begging, tugging his arm and whimpering.  He _had_ to come with them.  She couldn’t lose him, not now.  

He didn’t budge.  Every fiber of his being _wanted_ to go with her, to protect her.  But he knew where he was needed, what he had to do.  “If I do that, Regan,” he said quietly as he rested his hand against her cheek, “you, Jasper, and your parents won’t make it out of here before the gates fall.”  He pulled her back to him and just … held her, thankful that the others were occupied.

“You … you won’t come with us.”

“I can’t.”  His voice was gentle, laced with sadness.  “I … I wish I could, but I want to make sure you have time to get out.”  He lifted her chin, gently tilted her head before brushing his lips against hers.  He felt her grab at his shoulders and fought back a whimper before finally releasing her.  “You are … I ….”  He didn’t know how to say everything he wanted, everything she was to him.  

“I’ll never forget you, Rory,” she whispered.  “I … I love you.”  It hurt a little to admit … to realize … but it was true, and she knew it the moment she said it.  She cared for Nathaniel, even after everything that had happened between them, but it hadn’t been love.  She loved Dairren, but it was the same way she loved Fergus – like a brother.  Roland Gilmore was the first person she’d honestly felt herself start to fall in love with.

“And I, you, my dear Regan.”  He smiled sadly and allowed himself one last kiss, wanting to treasure the feel of her lips before pulling back.  He’d known almost from the moment he’d arrived at Highever, had grown up watching over her, loving her from afar until he’d been tasked with training her and then every day was spent with her, loving her secretly.  He took a breath, wiped a tear from her eye and forced himself back to the present.  “The last I saw your father, he was heading for the servant’s entrance … the secret one in the kitchens.  Go, quickly.  MY men and I will hold them off as long as possible.”  Turning abruptly, he ran for the doors, hearing them start to groan under the pressure from the other side.  He could hear a familiar voice on the other side; Ser Temmerly was barking orders to Howe’s men, demanding they break down the door.  “Regan,” Ser Gilmore shouted, trying to keep the very real fear from his voice.  “Go, _now!_  Temmerly is here, and after you!”

One final glance was all she allowed herself, mouthing “I love you” to the knight before turning and running, angry tears streaming down her cheeks.  She fought with reckless abandon, attacking anyone wearing Howe livery as she led her mother and mabari through the corridors to the kitchens.  She didn’t seem to care what she faced, even when the men opposite her were nearly twice her size and heavily armored.  She ignored the beatings she received, adrenaline pushing the pain to the back of her mind.  She was focused on just one thing – getting the three of them to the damned kitchens.

When they finally arrived, the first thing she saw was Nan’s crumpled body, a large iron poker nearby.  “She actually tried fighting them off with a poker?”  Regan shook her head and sighed, dropping to her knees to touch her former nanny & cook’s cold shoulder.  “She was tougher than I ever gave her credit for.”  She was shaken from her thoughts when her mother practically pulled her into the larder.  She had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming when she saw her father, sprawled out on the ground, trying to push himself up.

“There you both are.”  Bryce’s voice was weak, breathing labored.  “I … I was wondering … when you’d … get here.”  He all but collapsed in his wife’s arms as she dropped to her knees beside him.  “Howe’s men … found me … after the … meeting.”  He winced as some minor movement sent a shot of pain throughout his body.  “Almost … did me in right … right there.”

“We’re getting you out of here,” Regan declared, looking around for something to help her move her father.  She didn’t quite know how she was going to manage, but she’d do it; she’d carry him herself if she had to.  “I am _not_ leaving you behind.”  She refused to listen to her father’s protests, instead scrounging planks of wood from the broken tables and laying them flat.  All she needed now was … a lot of rope.  She was just about to pull her leather over-coat free and use it to secure the planks when the door swung open.  She whirled around, the small blade she threw barely missing the visiting Grey Warden.

“I’m afraid the castle is surrounded,” he sighed before propping a large plank against the door.  “It will make escape … difficult.”  Duncan was impressed with the girl’s response; rather than cower, she fought still.  Knowing her parentage, though, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Duncan,” Bryce groaned, clawing his way up enough to look at the warden, thankful when the man dropped to his knees nearby instead.  “I … beg you ….”  A sharp pain in several places caused him to cry out, near collapse in his wife’s lap before he could continue.  “Keep … please, keep my … wife and daughter … safe.”  When Duncan agreed, on _one_ condition, the teyrn nodded, barely.  “Looks … like you’ll get … your wish, pup.”  He coughed, splattering blood over the floor and Regan’s legs.  “You’ll be … joining the wardens.”

Shocked, Regan just stammered incoherently, looking from her father to Duncan and back again.  “I … I can’t ….  I’m going back for Ser Gilmore!  He was … he’s the one you ….”  She shoved herself to her feet and started for the door when a heavy hand closed on her arm.

“In truth, you were always my first choice, my lady.”  Duncan glanced at the kitchen door and hung his head.  “I … do not believe your Ser Gilmore survived.”  He felt her tense beneath his grip, watched her focused gaze start to shatter.  “When I made my way past the main hall, I heard the gates break.  I … I do not think he could have survived the tidal wave of men.”  He frowned, looking first at Eleanor and then to Bryce.  “I will take the teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar.  We will make sure we inform your son, and the king, what has happened here.  And afterwards, your daughter will join the Grey Wardens.“

No.  No.  Nonononononono.”  Regan repeated over and over, trying to get away, make sense of what she was being told.  Rory was dead?  Could that even be remotely possible?  He was too good, too skilled, too … too important to her to fall to _Howe’s_ men, no matter their number, wasn’t he?  She survived, hadn’t she?  If _she_ had, he would.  He was far more skilled than she.  She wouldn’t believe it, _couldn’t_ believe it unless she saw it with her own eyes.

Duncan started to guide Eleanor toward the passageway, near dragging Regan along with them when the teyrna stopped.  She looked at Duncan, her husband, her daughter … and made her choice.  “Go with Duncan, darling.  You have a better chance of escaping without an old seawolf like me.”  When her husband and daughter tried to argue, she silenced them with a look.  “I will kill _every one_ of those bastards that comes through that door to buy our girl some time, but I will _not_ abandon you, husband.”  As she dropped to her knees next to Bryce, she noticed Regan trying, again, to slip back into the castle.  “Darling, you know Ser Gilmore would not want you dying trying to reach him.  He wanted you to live; he sent you here so you _would_ live.”

Regan felt her heart break; she knew her mother was right.  Rory wouldn’t want her throwing her life away on a fool’s mission to reach him.  If he could have made it to her, he would have.  A clenched hand came up, violently wiped tears from her eyes.  Howe would pay for every life lost.  She’d made damned bloody sure of it.  With a sob, she ran back to her parents and clung to them both.  “I … love you, both … so … so much.”  One final kiss to both their cheeks before she rose, hate-fueled glare turned to Duncan.  “Fine, then; I accept. As long as vengeance comes to Howe, I will be a Grey Warden.”

“Go pup, warn your brother.”  Bryce suffered through another coughing spell, bringing more blood with it.  “Know we love you both.  You do us proud.”

As she, Duncan, and Jasper ran out the servant’s entrance, Regan could hear her father’s last words echoing her head.  Yes, she would make them proud.  She would tell Fergus and the king what happened.  And she would make Rendon Howe pay if it was the last bloody thing she did.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

[Her Knight's Duty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4101496) gives Ser Gilmore's POV during the night's events.


End file.
